Tales of Fen'Harel, or, The Dread Wolf Cycle
by Nine Bright Shiners
Summary: This collection gathers together various short fictions in a variety of lengths, all of them concerned with Fen'Harel and his lover. Will contain major Trespasser spoilers.
1. Sleep

_This collection gathers together various short fictions in a variety of lengths, all of them concerned with Fen'Harel, once known as Solas, and his lover, Lavellan._

 _As the collection grows, the order may shift, but the essential stories should remain unchanged._

* * *

 **Sleep**

Stone upon stone, bones upon bones, unstirred for centuries. Ivy has wormed its way into the cracks in the masonry, and time has leeched the ancient murals of their colour. Most striking is the wall-length mosaic of a wolf's face, cunning and kind, guarded and tender. Individual tiles have fallen away, leaving chips of darkness in the jade face. The lost tiles lie scattered on the ground beneath it, glinting like tears. A short distance away is a giant stone wolf, its body reclining; head raised and watchful. It alone seems untouched by time.

In the rubble between the wolf's paws, a man sleeps. His body is curled tight upon itself, at once tense and oblivious. His toes are bare, as is his head, gleaming pale in the rising sun. Cradled in his arms is a black orb.

A soft sound of scuffling; a small fox creeps into the ruined temple to sniff through the rubble. She does not go too near the sleeping stranger; nor does she pay him much attention. Unsuccessful in her search, the vixen steals away, russet tail disappearing around a corner.

The man sleeps on.


	2. Stolen

**Stolen**

She strode into the room, unwinding her scarf and sweeping off her heavy winter coat. He came in behind her, closing the door neatly. His calmness only gave fuel to her anger. With quick steps she disappeared around the screen and began to untie the sash about her waist.

Close overhead, lamps swayed gently, casting a warm glow over the plush walls. Through the casement windows, ocean-light sifted back and forth, fingering the tasselled edges of the cushions, caressing the velvet throws. They were drowning in luxury.

'Another wasted night. Those nobles will never agree on anything. If I'd only supported Gaspard, we'd be free of their bickering.'

She could sense him on the other side of the partition, could imagine his composed stature; hands held behind his back.

'That is not why you are angry.'

She gritted her teeth but made no reply. The sash undone, she turned to put it away in her dresser, to find that he had come into the alcove while she was not looking. He watched her neutrally, waiting for her to speak.

Her hands dropped to her sides. 'No, that is not why I am angry. I don't want you to go.'

Some deep emotion flickered in his eyes, before it was gone. 'I was wrong to have lingered so long. It has only brought you pain. It is time to put an end to this.'

She stared in incomprehension. 'What are you saying? You can't mean that.'

'It is time.' He raised a hand and placed it over her heart. She felt hot and cold at once, as if she were falling, being squeezed into nothing; stretched out so far that she flew apart.

Then he pulled his hand away and for a moment she could not breathe. In his palm was a flame, ruby-red, more solid than any flame could be. It was almost like a jewel, beating and jumping to its own secret rhythm.

She knew at once that if he took it from her she would be robbed of all her memories of him.

'Give it back,' she said, her voice trembling.

'Of course.' But he did not move, and neither did she.

'Give it back – _now.'_

Before he did so, he reached towards the flame and closed his hand over it. When he withdrew his hand, the fire was less than half the size it had been before, so small it hardly pulsed at all.

'What have you done?' Her voice was not her own, filled with panic and terror.

'It is for the best.' And he started to put it back inside her. She screamed and caught hold of his wrist, trying to pull it away, but his will was like iron.

'No! No! What have you done? What have you done?'

His face did not change as he sealed it inside her ribcage, then turned and walked away. She doubled in on herself. The walls fell away and there was nothing left but the searing pain.

' _What have you done?'_

* * *

She woke dripping with sweat, her hands clutched over her heart, alone in her vast, empty room. It was a dream – a dream. It could never happen.

But what if it could? What if it already had?

She lay awake in the silent room and received no answer.


	3. Awake

**Awake**

When at last he woke, the leaves had begun to turn red and gold. A few had fallen upon his sleeping form. Still half-asleep, he stretched his limbs, swept away his russet covering, and opened his eyes.

He saw the faded murals, the crumbling walls, heard the low sigh of the wind. He could feel the solid smoothness of the orb in his hands, its completeness.

It was all wrong.

He had heard tell of phantom limbs. What he felt was an amputation of the mind, of the self. His powers were almost gone; as a test he tried the simplest of spells and the effort left him trembling with weakness. Memories crowded to fill the emptiness, yet left him more hollow than ever.

He wondered if he was going mad.

He was walled off from that world he had loved so dearly, from the spirits he had loved as friends – and he had created that wall himself. He had lost everything.

In dreams, in the cocoon of sleep, he had been close to it all again, but in dreams he could do nothing but dream. There was no choice but to wake up. Here the closeness was stripped from him, and he was alone, more alone than he had ever been in his life. This was the path he must walk, through the barrenness of the world he had made himself, made for every living, thinking being.

* * *

In time he grew used to the numbness, the phantom world in the back of his mind, the loss folded deep within him. He learned to forget it for hours at a time, losing himself in the rhythm of his walk as he roamed from place to place. He ate the berries and fruits he found in forests and orchards; drank icy water from gushing streams. In the first village he came to he stole some clothes for himself from a farmer's son, roughly his size and shape. In payment he left three pieces of jade from the temple mosaic.

He found a long, stout piece of ash in an ancient wood and carved himself a staff, investing it with magical properties. In the time before he had never needed a staff, but in this new world, cut off from the most essential part of his being and still weakened from centuries of sleep, he could never have managed without one.

He grew used to this new self, this new weakness. From day to day he survived, but it was not living. It did not feel real to him, even when brambles tore at his clothes, or freezing rain stung his eyes and face. This mockery of life was more like a dream to him than the dreams he had just left. He spent his waking thoughts yearning for oblivion, for only in sleep could he come alive again.


	4. 15 Parvulis, 9:93 Dragon

_**15 Parvulis, 9:93 Dragon – Abandoned Chateau somewhere in the Crossroads**_

 _My steps along my chosen path have been few, but already I begin to feel the burden of all historians, biographers, and those others who commit themselves to bringing the past to life._

 _The past_ is _alive. It is just waiting for us to realise it. Every day I hold memories between my hands; hear the whispered echoes of almost forgotten dreams and fears, and it is as though my contact with them gives them greater power. Already I find it hard to tell if the memories I last experienced were formed of dreams or waking life. To share the emotions in those memories, raw and vivid as they are – it is an experience I will never forget._


	5. Complete

**Complete**

She lay in a haze of contentment, feeling the grass tickling her fingers, inhaling the freshness of the day. She had so little time to stop and enjoy the moment. The flowers surrounding her were so purple she could almost smell the colour. She studied the delicate petals, the patterns of darker violet on their edges; then turned her attention to the sky overhead. It was a brilliant blue, unblemished by clouds, so that she could imagine that it never ended, that the scar left by the Breach did not exist.

Further up the hill, Dorian and the Iron Bull were lounging in the shade of separate trees, exchanging heavily embellished anecdotes of their escapades at the Winter Palace. The ebb and flow of their voices carried down to her, though the distance was too great for her to hear the words.

Quiet steps approached; she recognised them as Solas's, and marvelled for a moment at her ability to know him instantaneously.

He lowered himself onto the ground close to her, stretching out his long legs, resting on his elbows. His eyes were soft, looking out across the valley. Rarely had she seen him so relaxed. She closed her eyes, feeling the stretch of her cheeks as her smile widened.

'Does something please you?'

'You know you do.'

He laughed, the sound catching halfway between pleasure and surprise. Beneath it she could sense him thinking, considering.

His hand found hers under cover of the grass, and her happiness was complete.


	6. I'm sorry

' **I'm sorry'**

Sometimes when he looked at her she could see something trapped behind his eyes and lips that he could never quite bring himself to tell her. She never asked him what it was; she feared to find out. Then he would smile at her, and she would forget for a while. His smile was so spontaneous, so wonderfully unselfconscious – nothing could hide behind such a smile.

But soon he would speak, and she would only be able to listen.

* * *

While he was working late into the night, Cole appeared, standing where he could not be seen. His soft voice floated across the room, deliverer of inescapable truths.

'She fears she is losing you. She does not know it yet, but the dread grows within her secret self, feeding on your silences.'

'Enough!' He turned on Cole, his hands clenched.

Grey eyes like souls blinked at him bewilderedly. 'I was trying to help – I wanted to help you take her fear away –'

His anger faded as quickly as it had come, leaving the bitter taste of regret. 'I know, Cole. But this is one matter in which you cannot help. Please, leave me for tonight. I have a need for solitude.'

* * *

Should she have known? Should she have seen that his eyes were too serious behind his smile, sensed his fingers on her cheek were a little too cold?

Perhaps the events at the Temple should have been warning enough. Her joy at discovering ancient elves alive and strong, her hope of seeing her people recover some of what had been lost, using it to rebuild, heal – that hope is hers alone. They are not his people.

Abelas, Sorrow, understood this. 'Elvhen such as you?'

'Yes. Such as I.'

He lets his hand drop from her face. Should she have feared a little more?

Her fingers go to her cheek. Already his touch is fading, her grasp slipping.

She waits, straight and proud – unsuspecting – for the blow.

* * *

 _These last words are inextricable from the lovers' tale. 'Solas' translates directly as 'Pride, to stand tall'. She had her pride too, like armour, but it protected neither of them from pain._


	7. Source

**Source**

She was horrified when she first saw the pictures. In one of the library's alcoves was spread an array of crumbling books, each opened to gruesome pictures of dissected bodies. Tendons and veins, stringy muscles, white bone peeking through marrow. She drew closer, fascinated despite the nausea twisting her gut. She had seen it all in battle before, but here it was painstakingly exact, drawing the eye and keeping it fixed.

'An old, long-dead Tevinter sect used to take apart the bodies of magisters in search of the source of magic.' The Inquisition's own Tevinter mage spoke behind Solana, startling her.

She found herself captivated by a drawing of an opened heart, so detailed and substantial that she could hear the faint echo of its beat.

'And were they successful?'

 _If she were to look inside him, would she see his magic? Would she understand him at last?_

'Of course not.'

The heart seemed to writhe beneath her eyes. Abruptly, she turned away from the table. Dorian was watching her with a frown.

 _And if he were to take her apart, scrutinise and examine; would he find her empty, lacking? Lesser?_

The set of Dorian's mouth grew grimmer. Solana hesitated, then forced herself to voice the words brimming on her tongue. 'Why is it; that some people are born mages and others are not? What does it feel like to have magic ready to summon just by willing it? What about the people who have none – how can we live without it while you never could?' _Are we even people to you?_ she wanted to ask, but did not dare to.

He watched her closely, his handsome face for once lacking its usual arrogance. 'I know the answer to only one of those questions. To be a mage is in many ways more a curse than a blessing. It brings power; and the potential for still greater power – but with power comes responsibility, and the risk of abuse. Then there is the fear of possession, and the dread that one day our control might slip, wreaking havoc on those we hold dearest to us.'

Solana could feel a tense silence arising from the room below the library. 'That sounds like a terrible burden.'

Dorian was smiling now. 'Of course, but there is plenty of fun to be had too. If I told you that possessing magic was all doom and gloom and terrible responsibility, I'd risk invalidating my own account the next time you saw me in battle.'

'Yes, you do like to show off.'

'Ah, but I know how much you enjoy it.'

She bade him farewell, heading downstairs. When she passed Solas's room she kept her gaze averted, feeling his eyes on her back.


	8. Rain

**Rain**

The blood on her hands would never dry if the rain didn't stop.

The Seeker thrashed as they lifted her onto the pallet, then went as rigid as rock in ashamed contrition.

'Maker's balls, woman – go ahead and scream. No one will think the less of you.'

Cassandra only clenched her jaw tighter.

Together they heaved up the stretcher and carried it the short distance uphill, doing their best not to jolt it. Reaching clear ground, they set down the pallet. While Solana and Blackwall set up a tent over the wounded Seeker, Solas crouched by her and placed his hands over the tear in her side. The ground was slick underfoot, and rain kept pouring into their eyes, but somehow they successfully pitched the tent, testing it for stability. While Blackwall stomped off to search for dry firewood, Solana set up the second tent. Beneath the drum-roll of the rain and the pounding of her hammer she could hear muffled groaning, and gritted her teeth in sympathy.

At last the tent was secure. Quickly she gathered all their belongings and shoved them into the spare tent, before heading over to the other. Outside the entrance, for some inexplicable reason, she hesitated. For a moment, beside the howl of the wind and rain, all was silent. She parted the canvas flaps and ducked inside.

Cassandra had passed out, her face white beneath a sheen of sweat. A glowing blue light emanated between Solas's fingers. Solana could not look away from the sight of his hands flat against another woman's bare skin. He glanced up, his eyes meeting hers briefly.

'She is burning with fever. Do what you can to cool her.'

Without a word, Solana set to work, drenching a clean cloth with the remainder of her drinking water, then using it to wipe Cassandra's sweat-soaked brow. As she worked, she could not help glancing at Solas.

His eyes were closed as he poured magic into the Seeker, his brows drawn together in concentration. His hands on Cassandra were gentle but firm – he would not let her slip into death.

That was the moment when she knew it was love that she felt. In that exact instant, his eyes opened, finding hers.

 _Losing you would –_

Silent, she cried out to him, seeking to make him understand. His gaze was steady – he did.

Then the tent flaps burst open and rain scattered over them as Blackwall shouldered his way inside.

'The rain'll stop any minute now.'

His words made the sudden absence of the wind's howl starkly apparent. Solana wondered how she had not noticed it before.

Blackwall looked down at the wounded Seeker. 'Will she make it?'

Solas smiled, his eyes never leaving Solana's. 'She will.'


	9. Shame

_The following fragment contains torture. More delicate readers may wish to keep their smelling salts to hand._

 _In Dalish lore, Fen'Harel stands accused of tricking the Dalish gods and sealing them away so that they could never again walk among their people._

 _This fragment refers to two members of the Dalish pantheon: Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper, who is the goddess of the domestic arts, and the sister of Andruil the Huntress. Sylaise, the Dalish believe, gave the elves fire, taught them how to weave rope and thread, and to use herbs and magic for healing purposes. The other is Elgar'nan, also known as the All-Father, the Eldest of the Sun and He Who Overthrew His Father. He represents fatherhood and vengeance, and leads the pantheon with the goddess Mythal._

* * *

 **Shame**

They were waiting for him.

Time nor tide would slake their thirst for vengeance.

He dreamt about them sometimes. Afterwards he was left shaking and sweat-drenched, his own screams echoing inside his skull.

It was always the same dream.

He was tied to a post, his hands and feet bound, his mouth gagged.

Eyes glowing, they filed past him, forming a perfect circle. In life their pride and hunger for power had kept them from uniting for more than a moment, but now they were all perfectly harmonious in their intention to harm him.

Elgar'nan was the first to speak. Father-usurper, self-styled god of vengeance, he was the most powerful of them all, and the most brutal.

'Trickster. Your pride grows too heavy. We will relieve you of some of its burden.'

The eyes watched him mercilessly. Then Sylaise came forward. She liked to call herself the Hearthkeeper, pretending to be gentle. But her slaves knew well that she was no more gentle than a bear savage with rage. She delighted in making ropes with which to bind the most rebellious of her slaves, slowly roasting them over her famed fire which was kept alight night and day by their brethren. If she had the whim she would heal their burns just enough so that they might continue their work efficiently.

In her arms she carried a wolf-skin, its teeth bared, eyes glazed and legs splayed uselessly, all dignity gone.

Elgar'nan cut Solas's bonds, but he had no time to gather his wits because a moment later he was seized from either side and hoisted face-down onto a stone slab. Deep in the stone he could feel the crackle of leftover magic – blood magic. His arms and legs were tied so that they were spread akimbo, and his head was forced down, grinding his face into the rock, drawing blood.

Then it began.

The process was slow but exact. He felt each sharp entry of the needle, the excruciating tug of thread, then the heart-stopping pain as the needle pulled free of his skin – over and over, until he was trembling and sweating. When he struggled, the needle gored itself more deeply into his flesh, drawing blood. He learned to submit, at last.

Sylaise never faltered until her work was complete, the dead wolf-skin attached to his all too living skin, raw with pain.

Abruptly he was cut free. They jeered as he staggered to his feet, laughing as he lifted a hand to his bloodied face and recoiled in horror at the wolf's paw sewn fast to his arm.

He felt its weight on his head and back, the tail hanging shamefully between his legs.

'And so the wolf is dread no longer.' Elgarnan's sharpened teeth flashed, gleaming with saliva. 'We have taken his pride at last.'

Sylaise wiped her needle carefully on her sleeve. Her face was calm; undisturbed by remorse or pity. She examined her handiwork critically, then looked Solas in the eye.

'Now all who see you will know what you are.'

* * *

He would never rest.

He would never forget.


	10. Lonely

**Lonely**

As the stars crept out one by one, a small slim figure stole out of the ring of firelight, and approached the statue that stood some distance from the outermost tents. As in dozens of Dalish settlements across Thedas, the wolf-god stood alone, eyes ever turned from his people.

In her hands, the little girl carried a wreath of meadow flowers with holly berries threaded between the stems. Reaching the wolf, she laid her offering between his paws, then set her behind firmly on the grass and looked up into his averted eyes. She smiled a sweet, sad smile, but the wolf did not see it.

'Ellana!' A young woman came striding towards the child. 'Sneaking away again! You should not give your parents this anxiety. There are dangerous creatures in these woods, as well you know.'

'Fen was lonely. I brought him berries so he could share in our feast.'

The woman looked solemnly at the wolf. 'Yes, he is lonely. But that is how it must be. He cannot come into the camp, or the other gods will be angry.'

'But why?'

'You know why, child.'

'But it was so long ago – he is sorry now. He would change the past if he could.'

'Perhaps. But that is for him to decide, not for us. Now, da'len, come back to your mother.' She held out her hand patiently. With a sigh, the girl reached up and took it, and was pulled to her feet.

'When will you take me hunting with you, Solana?'

'When you are seven summers old – which leaves another year to go.'

* * *

 _A/N: I've recently begun replaying the Solas romance again and thought it was time to update this story._

 **Please check out my Solavellan video on Youtube. 'Dragon Age: Inquisition - 'Is It a Crime' (Solas Romance)' This is the video description: 'Sexy, soulful, smooth jazz and R&B. Solavellan as it's rarely shown. Exploring the playful flirtations as well as the longing and heartache. Though there's a lot of that, too.'**

 _When I started my first_ Inquisition _playthrough as a female elf named Solana, I was actually set on romancing Josephine. I named my Inquisitor for Garrus's sister, having romanced Garrus in_ Mass Effect _. Then the Solas conversation and kiss in Fade-Haven happened, and there was no way my elf-Inquisitor could resist him. Neither could I, for that matter ;)_


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